


Angels Don't Lie

by AEpixie7



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Aziraphale being an ass, Canon, Could be read as gen but why would you, Crowley being cute, Gen, Ineffable Idiots, M/M, Sexuality, Shippy Gen, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 09:58:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17764613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/pseuds/AEpixie7
Summary: Crowley is early for lunch with Aziraphale. While he waits for the angel to finish his crossword puzzle, he breeches a rather uncomfortable topic of conversation, and in typical Crowley fashion, bulldozes Aziraphale right into it. (Mature for language and content)





	Angels Don't Lie

Crowley pushed open the door to the bookshop, the little bell above his head announcing his (albeit somewhat early) arrival for a lunch date with Aziraphale. Just as he anticipated, the angel knew exactly who was barging in to his quaint little space. He knew because the door had previously been locked, and he prided himself on having one of the most steadfast locks money can buy. Its only apparent weakness: one particularly well-groomed spawn of Satan. 

“Crowley you’re early!” Aziraphale called from the back room. “The agreed upon time was one o'clock, it’s barely noon!” 

Crowley shook his head and smiled. One of Aziraphale's most endearing (and yet somehow also annoying) quirks was his maddening ability to make a judgmental statement with sickly sweet intention.

“Sorry, angel, I was bored,” Crowley said as he breeched the doorway to the private back room, tossing the Bentley's keys onto the nearest table and leaning casually against the threshold. “Thought we could go early.”

“Well,” Aziraphale huffed a mildly perturbed sigh, glancing pointedly at Crowley over his gold rimmed reading glasses.

“I’m awfully busy right now, I wasn’t prepared to head to the Ritz until one,” he straightened the newspaper in his hand dramatically, and made an obvious motion of shimmying lower into his chair, in a very _I'm-not-going-anywhere-until-exactly-one-o’clock_ manner. He glanced back down through his glasses, a pencil moving delicately in his hand. “Besides, you’re a _demon._ I’m sure you can find a perfectly horrifying way to amuse yourself for an hour.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows at the level of sass he had received so far, but bit back any retort he might have made. He approached the chair opposite Aziraphale's and plopped into it, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap, his upper leg kicking absently as he stared over the edge of the angel's newspaper. 

Aziraphale attempted to ignore him, but only managed about thirty seconds before folding his newspaper down and sighing. “Are you going to sit there for _an hour?_ ”

“What else am I supposed to do? The Bentley's got a good spot outside, I’m not about to go somewhere…”

“Oh _please_ Crowley, you and I both know parking bays paint themselves to await that _beast,_ so don’t give me that balderdash.”

Crowley grinned happily, partly at the thought of his beloved Bentley, and partly at Aziraphale’s use of the word ‘balderdash.’ He glanced over at the small table nearest his chair, absently grabbing the top book from a pile and flipping carelessly to a random page.

“You won’t like that one,” Aziraphale said absently without taking his eyes off his paper. Crowley glanced down and started reading the first few sentences on the current page- some stuffy work about homemaking and how to properly fold your linens. 

“Christ,” Crowley blessed, tossing the book back onto the table and removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. 

Aziraphale let loose another sigh, louder and more dramatic than the last one, and slammed his newspaper into his lap. He got up from his chair and approached a specific bookshelf with purpose, pulling a small pinkish book from the shelf and tossing it to Crowley. Crowley barely caught it, and read the cover aloud, the confusion evident in his inflection. “The Life and Adventures of Miss Fanny Hill?”

“Widely considered the first published work of filth written in English. Enjoy.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale approach his chair and sit comfortably back down, his newspaper once again propped up in his lap and his pencil tapping quietly against his armrest. Crowley continued to stare, a tiny grin spreading across his lips. 

“Why do you have this?” he asked, unable to keep his grin from widening into a full-blown smile. 

“Because it endured years of censorship after its publication and therefore unedited first editions are extremely rare and valuable.”

“Have you read it?” Crowley asked after a moment, his interest in the book entirely forgotten as he unfolded his legs and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Aziraphale glanced up over his glasses once more, his eyes giving away nothing of his inner thoughts. He held Crowley’s gaze for several painstaking moments, before looking back down at his paper.

“You're not going to be quiet and let me finish this, are you?” 

“Oh come _on_ angel! You _have_ read it, haven’t you?!”

“Well of course I have, don’t be daft. Reading that sort of… material allows a glimpse into… human experience…” he began to stutter, and Crowley’s heart did a backflip. Oh how he loved to break the angel out of his usual prudish demeanor. Typically it took several bottles of wine, so this sober line of inquiry was particularly titillating. 

“Did… did you enjoy it?” Crowley pried, finally pushing Aziraphale to yank his glasses off and toss them onto the side table. 

“Oh for the love of…” he stopped himself, before angrily swiping the book from Crowley’s lap.

“ _Incorrigible,_ ” he muttered under his breath as he went to replace the book to its home. 

“Seriously, angel. Humor me. No one ever said you weren’t allowed to feel pleasure. You enjoy a good Bordeaux. The way you look at a rare book is practically obscene…”

Aziraphale tossed an offended glance at the demon.

“I’m just saying… you must find some form of physical pleasure… intriguing…”

“I don’t. I can’t.”

“Well, which is it? You don’t? Or you can’t? There’s a difference.”

“Not for me there’s not.”

“Sure there is. There’s a big difference between finding something attractive and _being attracted to something._ I find plants attractive, but I wouldn’t fuck any of them.”

Crowley leapt at the hint of a smile on Aziraphale’s lips before the angel turned his attention on tucking that bloody book so far into the shelf it threatened to fall out the other side. 

“You know…” Aziraphale said, approaching his chair and steeling his expression before lowering himself carefully into his seat. Crowley braced for harsher words than he received. “That’s actually a very astute observation, Crowley.”

Crowley straightened in his chair, the longest moment of silence passing since he had entered the building. 

“That there is a difference between thinking something is beautiful and… say, a desire to possess it. The difference between love and lust,” Aziraphale exclaimed, his gaze lost in the distance. “Fascinating…” he muttered under his breath, once again picking up his pencil and newspaper. Crowley had never wanted to rip a newspaper to shreds more in his entire existence.

“So… hypothetically. Or, practically, whatever. Which do you think is more attractive? Men or women?” Crowley asked, knowing Aziraphale's response would be one of two extremes- an honest answer, or a not-so-gentle suggestion that the demon remove himself from the premises.

He wasn’t prepared for the third option: literal conversational blue balls.

“I think all of God's children are beautiful.”

“That’s not what I meant. And you most certainly do not. You called that kid who stole a book last week a 'verminous urchin.’”

Aziraphale blushed but refused to look up from his crossword.

“Just… answer me this… if you were to ever… you know… make love…” Crowley hadn’t realized his words were coming more and more nervously until the angel's blue eyes peered over the newspaper quizzically. The opalescence of them always had the most unnerving ability to completely wreck Crowley’s train of thought. 

“Um… well… I guess I’m asking if it would be with… a man or a woman?”

Aziraphale seemed like he might get angry again, or uncomfortable, but Crowley had taken his glasses off. They hung limp in his hands, and his golden serpentine eyes stared, so scrupulously, into the oceanic blue of Aziraphale's that the angel was speechless for a moment.

“I…” he stammered, glancing down at his crossword puzzle and back up to Crowley. He grinned forcefully, and shifted in his seat.

“Well if you must know…”

Crowley practically fell from his chair.

“I guess it would be with a man.”

Crowley's eyes widened, if that were possible for snake eyes, and he choked on a gasp.

“Seriously?”

Aziraphale grinned wickedly and straightened his newspaper. “No. Not seriously,” he said with an air of arrogance, before moving his pencil over his crossword again.

“Oh for Satan's sake!” Crowley growled, jumping up from his chair and jamming his sunglasses back on his face. 

“You’re an angel! You can’t lie!” 

“Really?” Aziraphale drawled, his head tilted curiously up at his friend. “Crowley, I’m so glad you dropped by early today, I’ve very much enjoyed our conversation,” he said, gesturing generally in the direction of Crowley’s pacing. “See? Lie.”

Crowley stopped his angry journey across the bookshop floor, and placed his hands indignantly on his hips. 

“Let’s just go to the Ritz, since you’re not making any sodding progress on that God forsaken crossword…”

“Language, Crowley.”

Crowley tossed his hands up in surrender, and swiped the Bentley keys off the table.

Aziraphale shrugged and stood, another grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“But while we're on the topic,” Aziraphale said, placing his newspaper delicately on the side table and scribbling something frantically, before straightening and adjusting his bowtie. “What exactly do you find yourself attracted to? You know, if not plants?”

Crowley's face drained of color, as his eyes settled squarely on his friend. Moments passed.

“Wine. Let's go,” he said finally, gesturing for Aziraphale to go first. The angel chuckled, and said “sure,” before exiting the back room and heading for the front door. Crowley swung the Bentley's keys lazily around his finger, and approached the discarded newspaper. He was not shocked in the slightest to find that only a single clue had been solved. 

19 Across: “The first temptation.” Intentionally vague, to confuse the player into assuming the answer was Eve, or Apple. But the answer had too many letter boxes. A cursory glance at the surrounding clues told Crowley that the answer was supposed to spell S-E-R-P-E-N-T. He had never noticed that his name fit in the same spaces.


End file.
